Snapshots
by Ferrard Carson
Summary: Little vignettes of Mass Effect life both on and off-screen.  All events and characters are in the same continuity as "Horizon" and "Civility", so enjoy!
1. Confidence

**Confidence**

Wilson died on his feet. Shepard felt more than saw the bullet tear its way through the air between her shoulder and Jacob's, the hypervelocity grain of metal leaving a miniscule exit wound and a small spray of blood that misted across her arm. Wilsons heart stopped instantly, the hydrostatic shock ripping it to shreds even as his face froze in a stunned rigor. A thin, lithe leg planted itself in the dead man's gut, bearing a hundred-and-eighty pounds of flesh into the ground. The lady sauntered forward, lowering her machine-pistol and putting a second round through Wilson's brain. Insurance. Shepard would have liked this woman but for the "shooting my allies" bit.

"Miranda, what the hell?" Jacob's sentiment neatly reflected the iron in Shepard's mind.

"It was obvious," the woman said. "Wilson betrayed us."

"How do you know you're not wrong?" Jacob asked. Obviously a formality, Shepard noted. Jacob's eyes were already scanning for threats back the way they'd come.

"I'm never wrong," the woman named Miranda boasted.

Shepard frowned and asked, "Okay, just what the hell is going on here? Lieutenant Taylor here has been less than forthcoming."

"Look, I'm sorry Commander," he said. "We can give you answers after we get off this station."

"I want some before we leave."

"We're the ones who control the shuttles here," Miranda said, "You can either come with us or rot here with the dead."

Icy contempt crept into Shepard's voice. "You really think the two of you can stop me?"

Miranda's breath caught. A flimsy façade, Shepard noted, and one that would have fallen had Jacob not broken in.

"We're here to help you, Commander. I think we're safe enough. What questions do you have?"

"First off, who's running the trains here?"

"Cerberus."

The silence fell and stretched for one interminable moment. Jacob looked unburdened, pleased, with little idea what he'd simply let slip. Miranda's glare skewered the man, even as she inhaled to begin damage control.

Shepard twitched.

A stunted kick caught Miranda in the shin, dilatant packets hardening against the blow but attenuating none of the sudden impact, and the lady grimaced in pain even as Shepard spun back towards the man at her side. Jacob, for all his surprise, was able to shield himself from taking an elbow to his temple, but not from the punch that swarmed in under his guard. The armored fist, augmented by the cybernetics he'd seen installed not two months prior, slammed into his solar plexus, and he fell against the railing with the breath forced out of him, pistol careening into the cargo bay below.

Shepard spun low, foot slipping in her unfitted armor as she pushed back forward with the intent of finishing Miranda when the white-clad woman, not reeling from the sudden attack as Shepard had expected, planted a boot to Shepard's jaw, and the world went black.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well, here's a nice little vignette for you, valued reader. Ever feel like your Shepard didn't exactly react to the knowledge that she was standing next to two apparently avowed terrorists against whom she fought viciously in her previous life? This one's for you.**  
**


	2. Insubordination

**Insubordination**

The pre-fab was of a design Prazza could never dream of. It was so elegant, so finely machined, all the surfaces embellished with a beautiful factory sheen the likes of which he'd never seen before they'd landed in Freedom's Progress all of an hour ago. There were no scratches or soot scoring on the walls; the table he leaned on was perfectly round and of a uniform color, unmarred by spills or stains. The floor had no grooves worn in the sheet metal from chairs, no wear patterns near the doors. It stunned him at times just how lucky the humans had it that this could be a single family's dining room, where such a luxurious space would be more fit for the entire admiralty board.

"So what are we going to do when we get to him?" Forzan asked from the couch, filling her water tanks from the nearby cooler.

"I don't know," Tali said. "I'll improvise something." The girl was worrying away at a program she said would be able to track Veetor's suit readings from here, her shotgun discarded on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of fresh fruit.

"More important than that," Prazza said, "How are we going to get to the delirious fool in the first place? Kal just got to the other side of the compound, and he says the mechs are everywhere. And we still don't know whose shuttle that was."

Forzan sealed her suit's water tanks, the machinery humming as it began sterilizing and purifying the water. "We know they're not Alliance."

"Anyways," Prazza continued. "My people have spotted what they think are holes in the mech coverage, patrolled only by drones, so if we can take those out, then we might have an opening to sneak past Veetor's perimeter."

Tali shook her head. "Prazza, we don't have time for that. Veetor's badly injured and in shock. He could die in the next thirty minutes. We need to get Forzan to him as soon as we can. I already told you to call back your marines and prepare to assault the mechs head on."

"And I already told you, that's not how we do this. My marines aren't fitted for a frontal assault. Kal and I trained them well, but my cousin is the only one with a groundside kit on him, the rest of us are still in security outfits." Kal hefted the antiquated rifle in his hands for emphasis. "We would be needlessly risking our lives and using up ammunition just to get to Veetor a few minutes earlier. The crazy boy has survived this long, he can last the few extra minutes it takes for us to do this smart."

"Prazza, I'm in command here, and I gave you a direct order. If we play this right, I can re-program the heavy mech Kal spotted, and—"

"Tali, you're half my age and an engineer at that, no matter how many heroes of the citadel asked you to repair their rovers. I know what I am doing, so let me do my damn job!"

The child looked up at him from where she crouched over her omnitool. Her eyes blazed from behind her visor. "Prazza'Reegar vas Neema. If you do not feel comfortable under my command, then you will voice such misgivings to our Captain at the appropriate time. Until you have done so, you will follow _my_ commands as you would our Captain's, because our Captain has designated _me _to be your direct superior!"

The girl had spirit, Prazza admitted as she stared him down. So much of her father in her. So much of her mother as well. But she was not a marine. The Captain had made a grave mistake in assigning her command of this ground mission, and Prazza would be damned if this child got his marines or his starry-eyed cousin killed.

But he was toeing the line of insubordination. Had, in fact, stepped over it just now, and that shame burnt hot as his anger at her youthful inexperience.

"Understood," he said. "Ma'am."

The side door hissed open. Silhouetted against the harsh exterior lights were three humans kitted out in light armor, the color patterns screaming in Prazza's visor even as he whirled to bring his rifle in line. Tali scooped up her shotgun and primed it with a whine as Forzan stood from the couch, a pistol folding out from her hip.

The pre-fab exploded into noise as everyone's yelling drowned out everyone else's. Firearms leveled in both directions, the Cerberus black and whites shouting for the quarians to drop their weapons, Prazza's voice echoing inside his helmet as he and Forzan threw Cerberus' words right back at the monsters. His finger closed on the trigger as Prazza sighted in on the lead figure's helmet, the faceless black mask reflecting the scene, Prazza and Forzan standing there, completely exposed in the standoff.

The marine barely had time to wonder where Tali was when a brilliant blast of electrics washed through the entire room, blinding Prazza for a moment and causing his suit to shriek all manner of warnings into his ears. Reflexively, he squeezed the trigger.

Nothing happened. His weapon flatly beeped and flashed a variety of error messages across the scope readout before dying. His suit diagnostics indicated a full-system reboot was in progress, and Prazza reached for his sidearm only to find that it refused to unfold.

That was when he noticed Tali, standing in the middle of the room, with the leader of the humans caught tight in the grip of her left hand. In her right was the knife perpetually strapped to the girl's ankle, now digging into the ballistics mesh covering the human's neck.

Tali hissed. "Drop your weapons, Cerberus, or I slit your leader's throat. No biotic business either. I can see your amps, and I know your mnemonics, so she'll die no matter what you try."

The air tensed as the man and woman glared from behind malfunctioning weapons. Then the man flipped his shotgun sideways and knelt to the floor, setting it down gently. The woman was slower, but set her machine pistol down as well.

"If I may," the hostage said. "I always meant to ask. Where did you get that knife Tali?"

Prazza could see Tali stiffen in surprise as the voice and words sank in.

"Shepard?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Hey look, Tali's shown up in my writing! I always felt sorry for her in ME2—every force she's put in command of ends up being slaughtered because she honestly isn't qualified. It's like someone's either putting her in command as a political symbol, or setting her up to fail and discredit Rael'Zorah. Or both. More on that in a later chapter.

So, Prazza's one of those characters we don't really know much (if anything) about, other than that he doesn't follow Tali's orders. Hopefully, this makes his insubordination on Freedom's Progress make a lot more sense. And yes, Prazza is about to do exactly what he's told Tali not to by committing to a frontal assault. The difference between the two scenarios is that now he's not in a race against Veetor's madness and infection. Now he's in a race against Cerberus.

Enjoy, and as always, leave reviews, critiques, and / or fluffy things =)

~ Ferrard


	3. Authenticity

**Authenticity**

The desk was an ancient war-horse, a relic of the sailing ships of yore. Well over three centuries aged, it had basked in tropical heat, frozen in the arctic chill, splintered under battle, and sat unadorned and uncared in a British warehouse for decades before an aide to Admiral Venkatesen had it restored, refurbished, and installed in the then newly constructed Arcturus station. Venkatesen, of course, was long gone, but the Royal Sovereign desk remained, shepherding Fifth Fleet commanders through the First Contact War and humanity's subsequent involvement on the interplanetary scene.

Smooth, modern, machined desks usually came to the Alliance with built in comm systems and computers. Obviously, the Royal Sovereign originally lacked such amenities, but careful craftsmanship allowed for the installation of everything an Admiral needed to coordinate the Arcturus fleet, all hidden within its oaken shell.

As Admiral Hackett walked into his office, one such device was quietly fulfilling its duty. He noted the blinking light and placed his cap on the corner of his desk as the lamp sensed his presence and flickered to life. His chair creaked, the leather rasping slightly against the rough fabric of his uniform.

"Jennings," he called, "anything important cross my desk during lunch?"

His aide replied through the door, "One message routed from the Citadel. Ultra-priority and Top Secret tags, codeword MAGI."

"InOps?"

"No sir, Councilor Anderson's office."

Hackett nodded to himself. "Put it through."

A frame rose from the desk, false mahogany matching the scarred oak panel that flipped back to expose the vid player. It locked into place and the screen shimmered into existence. The screen displayed a security warning the likes of which Hackett was all too familiar with. The only difference from any of the dozen other files that would cross his desk and only his desk was the subject codeword. A command from his console closed the door and locked it with a subdued hiss and click.

"Admiral Steven Hackett," he said into the microphone at the prompt.

_Voice print accepted_, the screen read.

He sat back as Counselor Anderson appeared onscreen, decked out in dress blues as usual. The dour man rubbed his receding hairline, recently speckled with grey, and looked into the camera.

"Steven," he said.

Hackett sat forward. In the corner of his eye, he noted the chronometer on the wall over Anderson's shoulder, a remnant of the good captain's time on the _SSV Ebro_, set to Earth time as opposed to Citadel Standard_._ Barely an hour ago, which put it square in the night shift on the Citadel.

Anderson continued, "I'm sure you're dubious about the MAGI code. This is confirmed. Styx found a station deep in the Horse Head Nebula, utterly trashed from the inside out. It was Cerberus. Absolute treasure trove of information. InOps sliced out a shitload of data, all about a 'Lazarus Project.' You can guess who they're referring to."

"No," Hackett whispered to the empty room.

"They also found some security footage—it's attached, and it's her. What's more is we have independent confirmation from two InOps agents within Cerberus. If their reports aren't on your desk already, they should be headed your way soon.

"Admiral, I don't have to tell you how much of a firestorm this could be. Jellico over at InOps already wants to arrange an extraction and interrogation. He's convinced it's an imposter. I think he's wrong, but I can't prove anything yet. All I know is this: If that's really Shepard, she's going to show up at my door to say hello. I need you to keep Jellico off my back long enough for me to meet Shepard face to face. If it's her, I'll be able to tell."

A moment's hesitation crossed the younger man's face. "Honestly, Steven. I could use your advice. This is… This is surreal. I don't know what to make of it. Granted, it's only been an hour or so since I got the reports, but…

"The political ramifications of this are going to be hell," he said. Hackett watched impassively as his old protégé's face submerged itself under a statesman's mien. "She's in Cerberus hands right now, and that's their trump card to play any time they want, but we won't really know much until she responds to my missive. I know she's not exactly the most popular hero in the military, but I'm sure you'd agree that a quarter of the Alliance would follow her to hell and back if she asked—half if it weren't for that Cerberus banner. And don't get me started on what the rest of the Council is going to say about this.

"I'm going to have my aide clear me some time to get back to Arcturus on the quiet. I'll have Fleet Admiral Collingswood assemble most of the related brass, but I want you to be my point-man for this. I'm mired in too much of this political bullshit to do all this myself, and I trust your judgment more than anyone else on this matter.

"I'll see you in a week, Admiral. Anderson out." With a curt nod, the Englishman terminated his recording, and a polite interface popped up in his place. Hackett saved the message to his personal buffer and pulled up one of the attached video files.

It was grainy footage, but it took less than a minute to watch. It began with a man being shot through the chest by a woman InOps identified as Miranda Lawson, estranged daughter of one of the most powerful men on Earth. The other man was quickly recognizable. Hackett had always known faces, and those of unsung heroes with classified medals seldom failed to catch his eye.

"What are you doing with them, Taylor?" he muttered.

Most importantly, was Shepard. Looking a bit worse for wear, frazzled hair, obvious surgical and cybernetic scarring that would probably end up looking worse than Hackett's own battle-wound, but Shepard nonetheless. Clad in Cerberus colors.

Then the video ended with a flurry of blows, a sickening _crack_ of boot meeting jaw, and the two Cerberus operatives dragging Shepard's limp body onto a shuttle.

Hackett sat in the silence for a full three minutes as the security footage rewound and froze on Shepard's face looking at the camera while she had been scanning for security. Paranoia to a flyboy like Hackett—habit to special forces, he knew. God knows Anderson still did it even in Hackett's office. Old habits died hard. Loyalties appeared to do the same, if Shepard's last actions were any indicator, but without audio, there was no telling what the woman's mental state was, where her loyalties lay now, especially once the fantastical story of 2183 got around to her. The one spun for public consumption, not the one frantically panicking every major military mind in four different species.

Shepard was dead. There had been such a clusterfuck over recovering her remains, but it had been her _remains_ being fought over. And yet, old habits died hard, and even if Hackett was being taken in, he doubted any impostor, no matter how practiced, would be able to pull one over the man who had made her career, who had shepherded her during those three bloody years on the _Ebro_ chasing a three-headed dog.

For that matter, if the psych profiles were right, Anderson wasn't the only one who would be able to verify Shepard's authenticity.

Hackett keyed his intercom. "Jennings, clear up some time for me to meet with Jellico at InOps. And leave a note for Mikhailovich to receive when the flotilla docks tomorrow. I'm going to need to borrow one of his officers, maybe even the _Ain Jalut_, for the foreseeable future."

"Yes sir," Jennings said. "He's not liable to be happy about it, Admiral."

"He never is."

* * *

**Author's Notes**:

Say hello to everyone's favorite Admiral, who I feel Arrival did not do justice to. Not much else to say except that it was fun reading up on the Royal Sovereign and the Battle of Trafalgar.

Obviously, Cerberus isn't going to need to do much work to make the Alliance mistrustful of Shepard. No one likes the unexpected, and coming back to life when you were obviously dead tends to fall under the purview of "unexpected." And yes, Hackett is setting up the scene recounted by Alenko in his chapter of "Horizon".

Until next update, leave reviews, critiques, and fluffy things.

~ Ferrard


End file.
